


Lullaby for a Stormy Night

by flybynight



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybynight/pseuds/flybynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As England offers comfort to America during a storm, he realizes that some things never really change. "Everything's fine in the morning. The rain will be gone in the morning. And I'll still be here in the morning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby for a Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> Title and part of the summary is shamelessly ripped from Vienna Teng's, "Lullaby for a Stormy Night", which is a beautiful, beautiful song, and if you've never heard it, I really recommend you give it a listen! It inspired the first half of this story, though I thought it too short to post. The second half was written later. There's no real smut, just a full paragraph that's more than a little suggestive. I would have liked to expand on it, but I figured it would take away from the point (whatever /that/ is, haha). Also, I really just wanted to write more America/Fem!England, because it makes me happy like almost nothing else (besides regular, delicious USUK/UKUS on any given day). 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

There was a storm, that night. But that wasn't what woke England up from a sound slumber. No, rather, it was the patter of small feet, the desperate creak of her door swinging open and hitting the wall none too gently. It would be startling, had they not been so familiar. She took a breath and anticipated the insistent tugging upon her stiff cotton sheets and the slight dip into the mattress beside her.

"America," she said quietly, more to the warm, damp air than to the shivering lump beside her that cowered beneath the aforementioned sheets and didn't answer her anyway. She smiled helplessly.

It could have been a nightmare, another stray shadow upon the child's wall, perhaps the quiet groans of their little house settling. All things that had frightened him before and sent him running to her side. But England had her doubts it could be any of those, as a flash of lightning made the room go blindingly bright for a moment, chased by rolling, rumbling thunder. 

America  _shrieked_. 

"America," she repeated, sitting up then to lay a gentle hand upon the sheets, pulling them back ever so slightly. "Darling, do come out from there." 

"No!" came her colony's emphatic cry, and his shivering only intensified. 

"America," a third time was always the charm, and though her tone was firm, there was nothing but affection in her smile as America finally,  _finally_  peeked out at her, revealing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks, lips quivering and eyes so wide. Big and blue and open like the skies they both adored but were unknown to him under the cover of dark, billowing clouds. 

She tutted softly, drawing him out but closer to herself, raising a hand to wipe at his cheeks. America, as he always did, immediately fell into her then, and England could feel the relief radiating from him, stronger than his terror.

"It's only a storm, darling, you know that," she murmured even as she cuddled him closer, unable to resist even if she wanted to. "We've talked about this, haven't we?" 

America shook his fair head against her bosom, stubbornly. She ran her fingers through his hair. 

"Do you know why it rains, America?" 

He shook his head again, slower this time. 

England kissed the top of his head. "Because the earth needs the water, my love. Rain makes all the lakes and the rivers, the little ponds you like to splash in even after I tell you not to..."

"The ocean...?" America asked softly, pouting.  _The one that takes you away from me--,_ his eyes seemed to say.

England smiled. "Yes, the ocean as well. It's only so big and blue because when the rain comes, it fills it up."

America looked thoughtful for a moment, at least until another crack of thunder made him duck his head under her chin. "But I don't  _like_  it! It's loud and scary and I hate it!"

"I used to be afraid of it too, you know."

The small nation blinked up at her in surprise, and even a bit of disbelief that made her laugh. "No way! You're not scared of anything, England!"

"Believe me, dear, everyone gets scared sometimes. But... I had someone to comfort me too, then," she said quietly, looking off to the side.

America looked confused, questioning, as England closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the faint warmth of her winged friends, the magical, mystifying creatures that had offered her hope in the midst of her lonely and dismal beginnings. They had come when the rain fell, when the storms frightened her and left her shivering in the dark.

"Well--" she was cut off as a flash of lightning lit up the entire room for an instant, followed by yet another burst of sound. America cried out and buried his face against her shoulder. England rubbed his back soothingly.

"What you fear is the thunder, and it's only a sound, America. It cannot hurt you, I promise. But the rain," she trailed of wistfully, "with thunder and lightning, rain will come. And that, my dear, is nothing to be afraid of at all. Do you know why?"

America didn't answer, but she knew he was listening.

"Who do you think waters the flowers and grass? The trees of the forest? The hills and their valleys? It's all the rain. The rain makes the world bountiful and green and so, so beautiful. Without rain, we'd be in a very tight spot you know."

She gently eased his face from her neck so that she could look at him, and he at her, stroking his cheek once more. "Do you understand?"

America looked at her at length, before touching her face as well. "Your eyes are green too, England."

She blushed and laughed a little. "Indeed they are."

"Does it rain a lot in your country...?"

"It does."

He seemed to mull over that fact for a few moments, before nodding to himself as if coming to a decision. England wondered what he could be thinking about, but when he didn't elaborate, she didn't press him. She settled them both down under the covers instead, relieved that he had ceased trembling, though he did not stop clinging, and she didn't have the heart to stop him.

"Are you still scared, love?"

"N-No..."

He was. England's heart ached for him. "Don't worry. Tomorrow, when you wake in the morning, everything will be just as before."

"And you'll still be here?"

"I will still be here."

The storm finally began to ease and quiet, and soon enough America's eyes had slipped closed and his breathing slowed. She adjusted him against her more comfortably for the both of them, pulling the covers up snug and warm and letting the peace wash over them as the rain tapered off into silence.

\---

There was a storm, that night. They had both just come from dinner at England's favorite restaurant-- which had been, predictably, not as good as America had hoped, but for once he'd kept his complaints to himself and just made a secret promise to hit up the nearest McDonalds the next day--and since they had walked to said restaurant due to its close proximity to her small country flat, they ended up having to run the whole way back. America had shucked off his jacket and held it over them as England hissed a bit like a cat until they made it to shelter.

"Damn fine way to end an evening," she spat, not even a moment after they'd entered and stood there dripping in the entrance way. She started wringing out one of her pigtails, and America watched her in amusement.

"I don't know, I think it woke me up at least," he said casually, hanging his jacket up on the hook by the door and starting to take a step inside. England stopped him with one hand to his chest and muttered for him to wait as she disappeared around the corner for a moment and returned with a towel.

"Well I  _apologize_  that my company was putting you to sleep."

"I meant the jet lag! Come on England, don't be pissy, haha. It was just a little rain!"

At that, there was a loud noise reverberating through what felt to be the entire building, and the darkness of the apartment was lit up in a brief flash that made America hesitate for a split second (so sue him, it was kind of scary to see England's crazy old fashioned furniture making odd shapes and shadows). England didn't seem to notice, and instead worked on drying them both off and ordering him to strip while she went to finally turn the lights on.

That made him smile again as he did as he was told, waggling his eyebrows when England came back to see his progress. She threw one of his old shirts and a pair of his boxers right into his face.

After a very economical shower during which America was all but ordered to keep his hands to himself and England very determinedly gave them quick scrub downs, they retired to the bedroom, America settling himself in her bed and watching lazily as she stood in front of the mirror trying to brush the tangles out of her hair. That was when the power went out. England's cursing could have woken the dead, but America laughed and urged her to just come join him. It was late, after all, they were both tired, and the best way to spend stormy nights was cuddled up with someone, everyone knew that (and there was most definitely not any ulterior motives, and he  _definitely_  didn't twitch at the heavy sheets of rain and another roll of thunder making the windows rattle, god, there must have been multiple storms, why did it rain so much in this country?).

She finally did, and America didn't even complain that she was wearing one of her old lady nightgowns, because they were easy enough to slip off of her if he so chose. He didn't act on it however, not wanting to get punched for his efforts, instead settling his hands safely at her waist as he pulled her against his chest. She was so close that he could feel her lashes tickling against his throat.

"Feel better now?" he asked into her hair after a moment.

England paused, instead running a hand down his back and sighing, "Shut up and go to sleep."

"But England~ I'm not tired! Told you, I'm awake now!"

"Oh for god's sake, you sound like you did when you were practically a toddler, and  _no_ , it's not cute anymore."

America pouted at that. He didn't like to be called cute, but dammit, he was still fucking adorable, England just hated to admit it.

"Fine..."

It was quiet again, and he pointedly didn't say anything when she pressed a kiss to his throat in apology because she knew he was pouting, they were both fairly predictable that way. He let his eyes fall to half mast and was attempting to doze when the room lit up, but not with the safe, artificial light they were missing, but the harsh, blinding sort that made America tense in anticipation for what came after--

"America?"

He stiffened up further, able to hear England even as the cacophony outside threatened to drown her out. She was much too close for that, and thus could hear the spike in his heartbeat.

"America."

"Y-Yeah?" he said, covering up his stuttering with an awkward laugh.

When she didn't respond, he decided to pretend she had fallen asleep after all and was going to leave him alone about it, not ask him why he was suddenly clutching at her tighter. But England, beautiful, sweet England who liked to poke and prod at his weaknesses and smirk in that terrible way when she realized she had the upper hand with something, sat up and looked down at him, and his only comfort was that he had the luxury of darkness to cover up his terrified gaze.

"America, darling," she said softly, and now he looked back at her, feeling ashamed of himself for being scared that she'd be  _laughing_ at him.

"Wh-what?"

"You're still afraid of thunderstorms."

A statement, not a question. He hated those. It was only too late of course that he realized he'd never been with England during a thunderstorm since he was a kid, something that seemed really weird and unlikely, but apparently it had happened.

He shrugged. "M'not scared."

"Oh, you stupid boy..." she murmured, and it was his favorite kind of insult from her, because just as he couldn't hide his fright, she couldn't hide her affection for him. Again, they were too predictable. Much too predictable.

"Yeah, and? Are you gonna make fun of me now?" America said anyway, as being defensive was as easy as breathing. After all, how does one go on after admitting to their once caretaker, enemy, friend, and now long time lover that they were still afraid of a little rain and noise?

"It's not-- It's not so bad usually, and I mean, if it happens at home I just put on headphones until it passes, and it usually doesn't take that long, you're the one with like ten storms in a row over here, and I'm--" he babbled until she moved to slide on top of him, covering his body with her own.

"Shall I distract you?"

He couldn't be sure what that meant, and he  _really_  didn't want to be wrong, not with her warmth settling over him in a way that was both comforting and alluring in all the best ways. It was already working, whatever it was. Which was completely unfair anyway, how the hell was it that England could be prudish and push away his wandering hands when they were both naked and wet less than twenty minutes ago, but then initiate sex at inopportune moments? Or perhaps not so inopportune, seeing as America could probably have sex any time, but that didn't make the whole thing not kind of hilarious.

"What? Really? With sex?" he guessed anyway with another laugh, this one more up to par with his usual obnoxiousness. He didn't have to see England's eye roll to know she'd done it. "I'm up for it!"

"Of course you are," she drawled, petting his cheek and then gently pressing their lips together and licking into his mouth. There was no need for talking after that.

They made love, the pleasantly exhausting sort as they were quiet and fervent in their kisses and touches. England was unusually accommodating, as normally she was a bit more demanding in bed, sometimes even with more scratching and biting than kisses and 'I love you's. America had no complaints about either, because England was so special that way. Her nightgown came off as intended and he couldn't stop running his hands down her back and over her breasts as she rode him, panting and rolling her hips and whispering his name loud enough to cover the rain and everything else.

When they finished, the covers felt almost unbearably hot, so he shoved them away and kept her on top of himself instead, smiling when she didn't bother to move either.

"Hey... England?" he said after a moment, fingers carding through her lovely hair. He waited until she raised her head to look at him, chin resting comfortably on his chest.

"Do you remember... that one night you told me why it rains?"

"Mmhm," England murmured, one hand lightly rubbing his arm. "What of it?"

"I always think of that... every time."

He wasn't sure why he said it. He felt there was more, but England cut him off before he could.

She sighed through her nose with a slightly self-deprecating laugh. "Well clearly I did a poor job of reassuring you."

"That's not it!" he objected, perhaps louder than necessary, but he wanted to make sure she knew that he treasured that memory like all the others, far more than he really wanted to let on, but hell, it was post-sex and they were both emotional anyway. "That's not what I meant. You did great. I mean."

She laughed more genuinely this time. "All right, America... what are you trying to say?"

There was a flicker, and it wasn't lightning this time. Instead, it was the lamp on the other side of the room beside her dressing table coming to life, the distant and faint hum of the power thrumming through the flat once more, and England blinked, distracted momentarily. America was distracted too, as he continued to look at her.

When she looked back at him, she raised an eyebrow. "America?"

"It was your eyes... It was always your eyes, England."

Silence. England knew when America was about to get almost frustratingly sappy and romantic, and despite that she was still always caught off guard, not quite fidgeting above him and already blushing before he said another word. She didn't speak.

"I thought, back then, that  _of course_  it rains a lot in your country, to make your eyes so bountiful and green and... so, so beautiful. Like you said."

Her mouth fell open a bit.

"I know it's probably dumb sounding to you--"

"No it isn't, you fool," she said bitingly even as she was smiling and her pretty eyes looked wet. It reminded him of the first time he'd seen her cry, from sadness, from pain... from joy. Tears that fell just like the rain that made her so, so beautiful. America didn't want her to cry now though, so he grinned as he leaned up to kiss her on the nose.

"Anyway, the point is that it always made me feel a little better. Even if I'm kinda chicken shit about this stuff still."

England smiled wryly, tracing his smile with her fingertip. "You're unbearably sweet sometimes, you realize that?"

America kissed her finger. "Yep, and so are you."

"Now you're just being silly."

"Nah."

They both went quiet again, ever so comfortable, though a slight chill was starting to ease over the room. England pulled the blankets up again, and still she didn't move from above him, which suited America perfectly. He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin and sighed, happily and with peace that only the aftermath of the rain and the storms could bring.

For a little while.

"So..."

America's eyes were still closed as he furrowed his brow, not sure if he liked the sound of amusement in England's tone.

"Ghosts and thunderstorms still. How about needles? Or... spiders? Do you remember when you found one in the back of your closet that one day and you came running to me half-dressed and in tears? It was such a small little thing too, actually quite cute--"

"Shut up and go to sleep, England."

And so they slept, and she was still there in the morning, which was all America could ever ask for. 


End file.
